


We're not friends!

by meinposhbastard



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles is not disabled, Domestic Fluff, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr is not a Happy Bunny, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, M/M, Protective Erik, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smitten Erik, no Erik's Logic Is Not The Best Logic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-12 07:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16868302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/pseuds/meinposhbastard
Summary: Erik is, more or less, the mutant equivalent of Robin Hood. He offers shelter to the helpless and kicks ass on both ends of the gene spectrum like he’s paid to do that. He’s not, but satisfaction goes a long way towards accomplishing that. He’s rich, so he can afford doing ‘community work’ for free, even though running a mutant school is no walk in the park.His life is perfect in its little imperfections.That’s why he’s not sure how Charles figures in that perfect equation, but he does. And he does it so well that it leaves Erik feeling unmoored.





	We're not friends!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ximeria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Xim! 'tis I, your favorite Yeti! Naughty and Nice have been working on this li'l thing here for the past month and a half.
> 
> I still find the PhD and the Erik crushing tag ridiculous and hilarious. This fandom. *cackles*
> 
> This is an alternate universe that doesn't try to change or redo anything from the movies. You'll find that I plucked characters from all over the place in the MCU (not many), so I had no regard to timelines. There will be a couple or more scenes that will be familiar, but more than a nod towards the movies, I never intended them to mean something more than the purpose they serve the story.
> 
> This exists because Xim deserves this and more for everything they've done (and continue to do) for me. More than that, this fic is meant to be a comfort fic (at least I wrote it with that idea in mind... which is why the word count got away from me (not that I complain)) because Xim likes those, so I hope y'all enjoy it and return to it whenever you want a silly, fluffy fic! XD
> 
> Thank you, lil, for looking over this one and coming back with questions and impression! You've been a great help! XD And thank you [Tanja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nera_Solani/) for doing a quick beta reading and pointing out the little things that escaped my eye.

 

***

It starts with the massage place he sometimes goes to when his shoulder tendon acts up. It’s a small place, something like a nook in a wall. The owner is a Chinese old lady who he saved months ago from having her business be taken over by the local thugs. But that’s beside the point.

The _point_ he’s trying to get to is that this is where he first meets the man — the one who later will become _Charles_ and a pain in Erik’s ass. Not literally. Not at first. Not even at second or third. No.

He’s rude the first time he sees that man, he’ll admit to that. He questions his prowess at being able to work out the damn kinks in his back because let’s face it: even the old lady took two hours to bring his back to a level where it didn’t seize up when he made sudden turns.

He finds out that you can’t quite compare a lady whose strength dwindles daily to a man (mid twenties?) who simply lets Erik’s rude remarks slide off of him and gets to work. Jean would say that that’s strength you don’t see in people these days. Not the ones who interact with Erik, anyway.

The man, short and slender and smelling of nothing strong enough to overpower the faint oil scent in the room, has Erik lift an eyebrow at the friendly smile and the confidence with which he guides Erik on the massage bed. He doesn’t quite manhandle Erik there, but it’s a near thing. It takes him cocking an eyebrow at the hand that stops shy of touching his elbow, for this person, whose eyes express much more than his mouth ever could, to back down and let Erik do his thing.

Ten minutes. That’s how long it takes for those clever hands to make him lose control when he applies the perfect kind of pressure in _that_ spot that hurts like seven kinds of hell and every metal in the room levitates a foot in the air— like the bed he’s on.

Afterwards, he doesn’t even meet his open stare as he pays and books it out of there.

He worked some really wicked magic into his stiff shoulder and back in general. It doesn’t hurt for _weeks._ He thinks he’s cured.

 

***

Then he meets this insufferable man while he’s eating his damn French croissant and Italian coffee a few weeks afterwards. He thinks he’s being stalked. There’s a grumpy cat design in the cream and Blue Eyes _winks_ at him, before he retreats to the back of the coffee shop.

Yes, out of all the names he could’ve given the man, the most clichè one stuck with him. He’s Blue Eyes (for obvious reasons) and he can’t do anything about it. Maybe Insufferable Blue Eyes, but that’s a mouthful, so he sticks to the epithet like chewing gum to the sole of his shoe. But he might be too tired from fighting a new local gang who had no idea that part of this city was _his_ territory, and what was his, he protected with tenacity. His blood still boils at the thought that those scumbags were coercing mutants into doing their dirty job. He recruited one out of the three he saved; the others chose to leave the city altogether. He doesn’t blame them; being abused just because you’re different takes a long time to heal.

Erik is tired of how many mutants are mistreated.

Which is why his school exists, but he can’t quite advertise it because he really doesn’t need _that_ kind of media attention. So he’s left to pick them up during his outings. The others are doing their fair share of rescuing, and he’s forever grateful that he has people who he can trust with this.

When he pays (damn good coffee despite the _awful_ design), he does say, “is this coffee shop’s policy that of insulting the customers?”

“Beg your pardon?”

Really, there’s no need to look so taken aback.

“The coffee.”

Blue Eyes blinks.

“The drawing.”

“Oh!” Something that looks like embarrassment (but not quite) passes over his face, before he looks up at Erik again. “I didn’t mean to offend you, but it was one of the only three designs we have, and you didn’t look like a leaf kind of guy or particularly enamored to warrant a heart in your coffee.”

Erik stares.

“So grumpy cat it was.” Blue Eyes smiles pleasantly.

“Are you following me?” Erik says suddenly and Blue Eyes chuckles.

“I work here every other weekend. Besides, two encounters after such a long span of time does not count as stalking,” he says, so amused that Erik wants to leave that place and never return. “Wait until it’s the fourth time,” he winks, _again,_ “and then you can call the police.”

Erik stares, then takes the bag with the special deli for his band of misfits back at home and leaves without even returning the greeting that the infuriating man directs at him.

 

***

The third time he meets Charles, and the first time _he_ has his hands on him, it’s in an odd place. Odd because he wouldn’t have thought the man would be on the same boat as _Shaw_ of all people.

Erik is pushing his metal belt away from the yacht he just destroyed with what the kids dubbed as his ‘jazz hands’. Shaw’s mutant power did the rest, never being one able to control his ire when his property gets destroyed. And yes, Erik knows he’s being petty and that property damage is a crime (even when that property belongs to an asshole billionaire who could easily buy a hundred yachts), but he’s thirty and still vindictive.

Not to mention that Shaw’s dirty, grubby hands have reached too far and destroyed too many mutant lives for Erik to feel anything but rightful anger on behalf of _his_ species.

A soft brush to his mind makes him falter, though, and when he turns around to inspect the sinking yacht, he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

_A little help, please?_

The query jolts Erik, losing his grip on his metal. He turns and turns around, scanning the surface of the black water, but there’s no one around.

Desperation crashes into Erik’s mind, unfamiliar because it’s not his own, and he has to take big gulps of air just to make sure that he’s not drowning.

 _Where are you?_ He projects, his thoughts clear and focused and a touch panicky because the mind (so similar to Jean’s, yet worlds apart) feels so feeble, barely even touching him, and Erik just knows that whoever it is, it’s a matter of minutes if not seconds before he’ll lose him.

There’s nothing for a while and the end of the yacht explodes which makes Erik shield his eyes at the same time as an image appears in his mind of white light seen from beyond the water surface. He looks around at the docks and locates the street lamp that faces towards the water, then lifts one hand and looks intently at the portion of the water on which chunks of yacht and expensive furniture float before he feels around the metal shape of a buckle, some keys further up on the left side and a cellphone that won’t be making any calls any time soon on the other side.

He pulls, first horizontally to get the man out from under the debris, and then up, up, _up_ until Erik’s hands are touching a wet business suit. The face is young and familiar, lips blue, and Erik panics, convinced that he was too late, but then the guy coughs and takes a big gulp of air before opening his eyes.

“I apologize,” Blue Eyes says, a smile on his lips— _blue_ lips. “I don’t know how to swim.”

“And you were on a yacht.”

“Well, it wasn’t sup-posed to b-blow up.”

His teeth clatter, probably unable to stop his body from shaking uncontrollably. That’s when Erik pulls them both towards the far end of the docks, away from the street lamps and prying eyes.

“The important question here is, why were you there in the first place?” He narrows down his eyes.

“I-I had-d t-to. Imp-port-tant-t busin-ness.”

Erik can’t do anything to offer the man warmth, so he stands awkwardly, looming over the hunched figure. Really, this slender man was doing business with Shaw? Maybe he shouldn’t have saved him.

“‘s for ch-charit-ty.”

Erik snorts. “I can’t imagine it was going smoothly. That asshole would rather saw his arm off than donate money to charities.”

The man’s face turns up to look at him. Even in the dim light, Blue Eyes has such an air of serenity about him that’s boggling for Erik. He barely escaped drowning. Why does he look like everything played out the way it was supposed to?

“What’s your name?” he says, instead, changing the subject.

Erik hesitates only for a moment. “Magneto.”

“The street Robin Hood?”

He snorts. That moniker has given him grief with the kids he shelters at his mansion. Opportunistic little minxes, never ones to miss out on teasing him.

“Can you manage from here? Do you need me to call someone for you?”

“I think I will do fine.”

Erik doubts that. “You look like a stiff wind could blow you away.”

The man laughs, pulling a smile from Erik.

“Thank you for saving me, my friend,” he says.

That stiffens Erik’s muscles. “We’re not friends,” he says as he starts retreating.

“You saved my life. Of course we are friends.” There’s laughter in his voice.

“We’re not friends,” Erik stresses and he disappears with that laugh that makes him think of thick lava, the kind that’s not thin enough to flow down the volcano, echoing in his mind.

 

***

The next time he’s anywhere in Charles’ vicinity, he meets the twins. It’s been almost a month since the yacht event and Erik managed to put him away from his mind with no difficulty at all since he had enough on his plate with making sure the new kids he picked up were integrating well and taking every bit of his free time to teach them how to control their powers. Running a school for mutants is no piece of cake.

He was starting to wish for a vacation away from people of any kind at this point.

“I could drop you off in Ol Donyo Orok.” Ororo told him lightly when she caught him grumbling. “There’s a forest reserve there large enough for you to not see man-shaped tracks for miles.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he said, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the papers he was grading with enough heat that the red marks started dancing on it. “I fear that the little runts will take over the school to rain terror and mayhem on all of you, if I’m not here.”

Of course he was exaggerating. All the mutants he brings in manage to fit in in some way or another, and although they fear Erik at first because of his stoic behavior, the old ones soon assuage those fears. It’s no secret that Erik’s aloofness is as tough as eggshells. The teasing is relentless, not to mention that, lately, they’ve unanimously decided that Erik needs a significant other.

Gender seems to be the least of their worries— or if there is any chemistry at all between him and the poor victim. They tried to set him up with _Colossus_ of all people. He thought Kitty and Ororo would laugh themselves to death when they found out. Colossus and he, on the other hand, agreed non-verbally to avoid each other like the plague until the mental scarring would be just an old memory that wouldn’t resurface at the mere sight of the other.

Now he’s standing on an abandoned, ragged pier in Cuba, soaked wet (again) and feeling his muscles quiver constantly under his skin-tight swimming suit. This Robin Hood-slash-hero job is getting harder and harder to do the more creative these asshole villains become.

Two pairs of eyes, one brown and the other blue, peer at him from behind the rusty old boat, several feet away from the pier. Erik cocks his head.

“He said you help us, yes,” the girl says, an accusing edge in her voice as the hard Russian accent slaps Erik in the face.

He blinks and takes a step forward only to have the boy cower behind her even as she clenches her fists, red mist swirling around them and in her eyes.

“Who said that?”

“Smile man.”

He has no idea who they’re talking about, but what confuses him more is: what are Russian kids doing on the Cuban shore? They don’t look— exactly lost. Surely they didn’t swim—

“You were on the warship?”

She shakes her head, then points out at the city barely glimmering beyond the beach and the palm trees.

“How— what man told you about me?”

It was surely not Stryker. The asshole wouldn’t care one way or another what happened with them, especially kids that seem to have mutant abilities.

“Hotel. He said Shaw. You will remember, yes.”

That name alone clears every confusion in his mind and he whirls around to stare at the sinking warship and the retreating ones he didn’t give chase to. He and The Brotherhood established in Cuba managed to deflect such a blatant attack on Cuba from the US military forces, or, more specifically, from Stryker, as Cuba shelters enough mutants to be seen as a threat by the US.

The political shitstorm this will cause. He doesn’t even want to think about it.

_Jean, get us out of here._

_Us?_

_Found a pair._

_Nice job. That’s number sixteen this year. You’re going for a record._

Erik scoffs at that and Jean sends amusement down the link she keeps open with him when he’s out of the city.

“You help, yes,” she says again, her fists still clenched and red mist swirling around them.

“Yes, yes, I will help you.” It’s instantaneous: she relaxes and hugs her brother, whispering things in Russian that Erik thinks are meant to be reassuring.

He doesn’t meet his Blue Eyes. He’s not _his_ his, but— well. He doesn’t have a good comeback to that. But it makes sense why he felt a familiar presence at the back of his mind, besides Jean, when he was destroying ship after ship. He thinks that maybe— but probably he’s not there anymore. Still, it doesn’t hurt to try.

_Can you feel any telepath within a three mile radius from me?_

_You mean the one we both felt a while back?_

_Yes._

She takes a minute to answer.

_Can’t feel anyone with a telepathic imprint. He might be shielding— or left the city altogether._

He stares back at the girl who looks like she’s barely in her pre-teen years. They all look so young to him, even when they scoff and throw their driver’s licence in his face. Still kids, dammit.

_ETA?_

_Scott will be there in an hour. Make friends with the kids._

Erik scoffs, but when the girl peers up at him suspiciously, he clears his face of the ‘murderous gaze’ everyone at the school keeps telling him about. It’s his face, he can’t help it.

He sits down on the sand and finds out that Wanda and Pietro were shipped there on a boat full of Russian, Ukrainian and Serbian immigrants, and that they’re orphans; she refuses to tell him how, though. After parsing through some weird English words, he also finds out that she has the mutant abilities of what the folklore would call a witch, whereas her twin brother, who she told him hasn’t spoken a word since their parents’ death, has inhuman speed on his side.

By the time Scott lands, he won enough of Wanda’s affections to have the girl hold his hand, his twin brother at her side, as they walk up to the sleek, black plane.

 

***

The fourth time he meets Charles it’s not due to the power of his inheritance that can reach the most secluded places on Earth, although he does throw himself into a game of tag for the elusive telepath that now has found a nook in his mind and is constantly there, buzzing softly in the background of his thoughts. He pulled up every contact he acquired over the years just to find the man, but so far, six days later, none came back with any shred of information. It’s like the earth swallowed up the man. Or he was just a figment of Erik’s imagination.

Until now, that is.

The man simply knocks on his front door at an ungodly hour which so happens to be Erik’s personal and only awake time that he gets to spend in blessed quiet in the kitchen. The whole mansion is silent and peaceful, and he can cook his breakfast without worrying that this or that kid will steal it.

And because it’s this early, he doesn’t bother to put on day clothes for another ten minutes, so he’s just passing the entrance hallway towards the kitchen with a mug of steaming coffee that has a metal band around it to mark it as _personal_ and _touch at your own risk_ in one hand, clad only in a black bathrobe and grey pants.

“Hello, Erik,” the man that’s been a distant, but constant, echo in his mind says when he opens the door.

The mug doesn’t quite reach the floor only because he stops it somewhere near his thigh— losing some of the coffee in the meantime, but sacrifices need to be made for the greater good. He catches the glint in those dark eyes that spells awe and delight at Erik’s display of his powers— not unlike that first time at the massage place.

He slowly pulls the mug back into his hand, taking a sip from the only concoction on this planet that can fully wake him up.

“I’ve heard you were looking for me.” He thrusts a hand between them, a genial smile behind it, and Erik takes it on autopilot, registering the slightly rough and calloused palm as warmth envelopes him in a firm handshake. “I’m Charles Xavier and this is my closest friend, Hank McCoy.”

Erik is not a talkative host, not because that’s his host signature, but because he’s too easily lost in staring at the man that’s perusing the bookshelves in his office and talking animatedly and with that gentle smile that seems to be etched onto his face. Somehow, he wonders if the man ever gets angry.

“How are Wanda and Pietro?” he says as he takes a place on the opposite chair. The guy he came with hasn’t uttered a word after the initial ‘hello’ and seems content, if a bit jittery, to let _Charles_ do all the talking. “I told her to seek you out. Did you meet her? She’s a sweet child. Pietro, too. He doesn’t speak, though. Not after what happened to their parents.”

That finally manages to snap Erik out of the trance he plunged into. He frowns down at the cold coffee, offended that the liquid lost its warmth. Did he space out for that long? Wait. His eyes snap up at the man — _Charles_ — searching his face for the signs that he’s tampering with his mind. But there’s only that genial smile and Erik believes that there must be something wrong with his face.

“They’re fine,” he finds himself saying after an inordinate amount of time, setting his mug down on the mahogany desk. “Why are you here?”

“You were looking for me, were you not?”

Erik frowns. He knows there’s something he should be focusing on here; something important.

“Are you doing anything to my head?” He realizes how rude that sounds the moment his mouth delivers the words.

Charles’ smile falters. “I wouldn’t be so rude. I never manipulate people’s minds and I always ask before reading them. I can project my thoughts into somebody else’s mind, but I am shielding right now— as are you.” He taps his temple, the smile returning, though not as bright as before.

He’s not lying, unless he found a way to be in Erik’s mind without him feeling the signature touch every telepath has.

“Then why are you here? Why now?”

“We got evicted,” Charles’ friend says so suddenly that both he and Charles jolt from the stare match they so easily fell into.

“Hank.”

“It’s true,” he says it the same way a man whose experiment wouldn’t work would. “I’m sorry. It was my fault we got kicked out,” he tells Erik. “We came here because you were looking for us.”

“Hank, it wasn’t your fault. It was a lab accident. Those happen a lot.”

“Not five times in three days. Moira was out of excuses for us, so we had to leave. I’m sorry.”

Charles sighs. “Really, Hank. You’re a brilliant man, you should stop apologizing for things that are out of your hands.”

“I could’ve prevented that last one, if my lab coat didn’t get in the way.”

“It was an accident, Hank! Let it go.”

“I’m—”

“So you’re here because you don’t have a place to stay,” Erik interrupts them, not expecting the thousand watt smile Charles turns on him.

If he didn’t already have proof of him being a telepath, Erik would’ve been convinced that his mutation lies solely in that smile. He finds that he cannot look anywhere else if a grenade exploded next to him.

“Yes,” the friend says, maybe a touch too exasperated.

“Only if you’ll have us, my friend.”

“We’re not friends,” he says automatically and Charles’ smile acquires more watts. “Though when we last met, what was it that you told me? That I should call the police the fourth time we meet?”

Charles’ friend — something something — frowns at him.

“Only if it proves to be a case of stalking,” Charles says. “And it doesn’t.” Erik quirks an eyebrow and Charles looks insufferably pleased for some reason. “I came to you deliberately because I heard you were looking for me. So technically, you were doing the stalking.”

A sharp smile crests his lips. Instinctively, he knows that Charles is bluffing. He knows this man— this _type_ of man, that is. He doesn’t know the man. Barely acquaintances.

“You came here because you have no place to stay, not because you answered my query. Tell me, _Charles,_ how much time has passed between the first time you got wind of my search and you coming here?”

This has Charles pause, his smile dimming down to contained amusement, his eyes shrewd and with the knowing glint in them that had Erik’s attention on more than one occasion.

“Very well.” He inclines his head. “I did not intend to answer your call.”

“At all?”

“At least until after Christmas.” He glances at his friend. “We were thinking about moving out.”

“What about your jobs? The Chinese place and the coffee shop.”

“Oh, I was a temporary fill in for Mrs Jiang’s son. He finished the last course he had and returned to America. Did you know that he has a dragon-like mutation? He can heat up his entire body at whatever temperature he wants it to and mutates into a full-fledged dragon. It’s spectacular! He’s still working on controlling his fire as it sparks when he’s stressed out and completely disappears when he’s furious.”

Impossibly, Erik is enthralled by the enthusiasm that Charles displays both on his face and through the animated hand gestures.

“That is strange,” Erik finds himself saying. “Usually mutant powers are out of control and more dangerous when anger is involved.”

“Right? I thought the same, but with him it’s different. Might be because he comes from a traditional family, so he’s been taught to control himself from a young age.”

“I doubt that, considering that that kind of background is what drives young mutants to seek release from pent-up frustrations.”

Charles chuckles warmly and Erik soaks the sound like a sponge, unable to stop himself from provoking the man to hear more of his thoughts, see more of his gestures.

“Then you haven’t met him. He is—”

The friend clears his throat and Erik blinks. Right. This wasn’t what he aimed for. He straightens in his chair.

“What about your barista job?” he asks, cool and detached.

Charles frowns at this. “It was something I did during the weekends to help a friend. And before you ask, I’m a professor at Columbia University.”

Erik narrows down his eyes.

“Was,” the guy mutters.

Charles turns a smile that’s a touch too wide towards his friend. “Thank you, Hank. Was. I am no longer employed by the university.”  

“Then what are you—” he begins just as he feels Jean’s familiar touch and sees Charles’ eyes widen at the same time; he felt her, too.

Between the three of them, only Hank jumps a little in his seat when the door opens at his back, admitting Jean.

“I didn’t know we were expecting guests today.”

“We weren’t,” Erik mutters as Charles and Hank stand, and each shake hands with her.

When presentations are out of the way and both Jean and Charles fall silent, both looking intently at each other, Erik knows that they’re having a private conversation. The silence, though, seems to affect Hank because he shifts in his seat.

“So, nice house,” he says just to fill the time with something.

But Erik’s gaze knows only Charles’ face, fascinated by the micro expressions he can glean there, the way his smile widens a bit every once in a while.

“Family owned,” he says absentmindedly. “My mother passed away in her sleep, so I inherited everything.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Then it’s done,” Jean says, smiling. “You can have the two rooms at the end of the hall on the third floor.”

“What.”

“Um, I’d like to take a ground floor room, if it’s possible. Preferably near a room I can use as lab.”

“Oh, we have something perfect for you,” Jean says warmly.

“Wait.”

“Then I will take the room on the third floor, if it’s not too much.”

“Wait, I didn’t—”

“Nonsense, you’re both welcome here.”

“Why isn’t anybody asking me if I’m okay with them staying?” Erik finally gets out, frowning at Jean.

She blows air to push a lock of hair from her eye. “They’re both mutants,” she ticks off one finger, “both are old enough to take a teaching position,” a second one, “they’re polite and great conversationalists,” third, “and we have enough empty rooms to spare two.” The last one.

Erik opens his mouth to protest, argue against all those reasons because they sound silly and like nothing he said—

“They fit right into your vague criteria for accepting people that aren’t kids with mutations.”

He closes his mouth.

There’s nothing else he can say that would prove anything but futile in the face of a determined Jean. And she warmed up to Charles. That’s like sealing somebody’s fate.

He also needs to learn not to glance at Charles, lest he becomes enthralled once again by that radiant smile he keeps showing Erik.

“If there’s nothing else to discuss,” and here she throws a pointed look Erik’s way and he simply lifts his palms up in defeat, “then I’d like to show you to your new rooms so you can settle in before the mansion returns to life. We’ll start with Hank.”

Their guests nod and stand up at the same time, preceding Jean out of the door.

“You,” Jean says, her body between the door and the door frame. “Shirt, now. You don’t need to give more fuel to your fanbase.”

Erik sighs and gets up, following her into the hallway. He takes the stairs whereas she makes right on a side hallway.

_And Erik?_

_Yeah?_

_Eighteen._

He groans at the silly record she’s keeping, her chuckles following him to the first floor.

 

***

The fact that Charles’ room is two doors down the hallway keeps him awake the first night. And the second. On the third he uses meditation techniques, failing spectacularly, but falling asleep in the middle of arguing with himself to _stop thinking about the man._

Really, it’s beyond ridiculous.

Not as ridiculous, though, as passing by one of the several ground floor rooms they use for lessons and stopping dead in his tracks at the familiar voice filtering through the open door. There’s genetics talk and then there’s _Charles_ talking about genetics. Animatedly. He shakes his head.

Beyond ridiculous.

“Eighteen,” Jean sing-songs, making him jolt as she passes him by.

“Please stop that.”

Laughter is the only answer he receives from her, so he sighs and simply gives up.

He is holding a lesson on the Second World War German literature, when he feels a familiar touch to his mind. It takes him a glance to find Charles’ serene expression and, without any sign of acknowledgement, he continues the sentence from which he only paused minutely. He’s not as distracted as he feared he might be, now that Charles breathes and exists within the same room as he, but that might or might not be the steel control he has to exert over himself all the time.

He finishes the lesson two minutes earlier and while a good part of the students file away, some of them keep behind to ask him more questions. No, they are _not_ his so-called fanbase Jean and Ororo and Kitty keep telling him about. They’re just eager to know more.

A wave of amusement _does_ distract him. This time. Only this time. He glances up at a Charles who shouldn’t look so good with mirth lighting up his eyes. But here he is, noticing the strangest details about one of the two new teachers he acquired several days ago.

_Sadly, my friend, I must inform you that Marissa is too distracted by the way your lips shape words to pay any attention to your answer and Jake zoned out on your accent. Claire, on the other hand, is paying attention, but only because she has a… thing for men who are knowledgeable—_

_Sapiosexual,_ his treacherous mind supplies because he really wants Charles to shut up.

Thrill trickles down to Erik’s mind and he sighs internally.

“Why are you here, Charles?” he says when the kids leave, keeping the distance between them.

Charles pushes himself off the doorjamb and steps closer. Erik needs to put away the books he had been using, so he finds that the best place to do that is from behind his desk.

“Jean told me about an antique chess board you might be having,” Charles says, gaze tracing Erik’s hands as he takes book after book and slides it back into its place on the floor-to-ceiling high shelf.

He makes a noise of assent.

“I don’t suppose you know how to play, do you?”

Erik pauses for a couple of moments before fully pushing in the last book. His mind flies towards the smallest of the three communal rooms situated in the west wing, where they currently are. It’s only ever used by teachers, by which he means that he’s the only one who periodically spends time there as the others prefer to be among the kids.

There’s no shame in wanting to spend some time alone in the room that faces towards tall bushes and firs.

“I do,” he says slowly.

Charles’ eyes light up. “Would you care to join me for a match?”

“If you want to lose…”

“Why, I’m confident I could match your game, Mr Lehnsherr.”

“Erik.” Charles blinks. “Just Erik.”

Seconds pass by, then, “Erik.”

The smile is less enthused and more inti— soft. Soft. It’s a soft smile. The kind that doesn’t show teeth and only makes the brackets at the corners of his mouth dip ever so slightly. He absolutely refuses to think about the way those lips — _that mouth_ — shaped his name. It’s just a name.

It’s just lips.

They were blue a month ago. Blue and he bets they were still soft.

The brusque start his legs engage into makes Charles jolt on the other side of the desk. Erik rounds the corner.

“I’ll lead the way.”

 

***

“Do you always lead with your Queen?” he asks later, much, much later.

Charles hums, thumb and index finger keeping his chin prisoner as his eyes are entirely focused on the chess board between them. Good, like this Erik can openly stare at him, at the soft grey and brown tweed, hunched figure, free hand moving — appearing slender from afar, anything but from up close — aborted little motions, eyes skimming the pieces over and over again, most probably going through every move he could make that Erik could block.

They’re down to four pieces Charles, and five Erik. As it looks, though, Erik’s pawn is under threat, but he’s not worried. What’s behind the pawn assures him that Charles would lose one, too, if he were to take Erik’s pawn.

The mouth — soft — purses in concentration, then the indecisive hand moves.

It’s hard for Erik to tear his gaze away from Charles’ face, not when he’s so comfortable in his favorite armchair, hands motionless on his thighs, and a person that intrigues him beyond any logical reason sitting across from him. He feels at peace. Now. In this very moment.

“The Queen is a convenient pawn when you’re down to as few as I am,” he says as he moves one, taking Erik’s. Erik spares a glance at the board and then moves his bishop, taking Charles’. The little lopsided smile makes Erik blink and look down at the pawns. _Fuck._ “But she’s usually better in the position of a lure.”

He moves the Queen.

Erik stares at the board. His King is flanked by the two Rooks, Charles’ Queen standing one square away from his King. He can’t move left or right and the Queen’s next move would take his King out.

“Checkmate, my friend.”

“We’re not friends,” he says feebly.

“I’d say not after this,” Charles says, the amusement finding an outlet in the low chuckles.

Erik flickers his eyes at him, the smug bastard leaning back in his armchair, such satisfaction molding his features that the most expressive cat in the world wouldn’t be able to hold a candle to that.

“But since we’re not friends, I request that you forgive this and write it off as beginner’s luck.”

“You’re no beginner.” Charles’ smile widens. Erik’s eyes narrow. He _won’t_ mirror it. “You’re a menace.”

“Quite the contrary. I am as innocuous as any other well-meaning person out there.”

Erik lifts one eyebrow, then taps his temple with his index finger. “Telepath. I don’t think one can get more powerful than that.”

“I beg to differ, my friend.” He leans forward in the seat as if this, right here, is what he’s been waiting for his whole life. “There are mutants out there far more powerful than I could ever be. Jean is one of them. You as well. Wanda, too. All these people have so much potential there.”

“But not you,” he throws back.

Charles blinks, leans back and looks out of the window.

“I’m just a professor,” he says softly.

“And I’m just a mutant school headmaster. Jean is just a teacher and Wanda is just a kid.” Now it’s his turn to lean forward, elbows on his knees, to pin Charles in place with his gaze. He meets Erik head on. “Jobs or age doesn’t define who you are or limit what you can do.”

Charles smiles, but it’s in no way as brilliant as what he’s been showing Erik. “I defer to your logic, my friend.”

“It’s the best logic.”

The chuckles pull a little smile from Erik, leaning back and basking in the pleasure he feels at proving a point on something in which Charles seems to have more knowledge than him.

 

***

The touches start soon after they make it a habit of playing chess after dinner and discussing a wide range of topics, some of them baffling Erik because Charles is a pitless well of information and Erik is— looking forward to each and every evening where they’re alone and Erik can enjoy himself.

They’re basking in a chilly, yet sunny fall day out strolling on the grounds. The last chilly weekend before winter settles in, both of them dressed accordingly, though Charles dones a lamb wool scarf he told Erik he bought when he passed through Scotland in one of his few uni trips back to his continent. He discovered that Charles feels the cold much more than Erik, so now he makes sure that their chess room is warm by the time Charles arrives.

He doesn’t think anything of the fact that they’re walking closer than usual, sometimes feeling Charles’ parka grazing against his synthetic wool coat. Or that Charles’ face is always turned towards him when he speaks.

Then a flash of red hair, bordeaux parka and pink boots catches Erik’s attention and makes him pause mid sentence as Wanda runs towards them, a big, carefree grin making her red cheeks puff out somehow. She made jumps in terms of socializing and power control since he brought her and her twin brother here. Everyone is smitten with her and her thirst for knowledge. But sometimes her bluntness bruises egoes. Kids.

She waves at them as she swerves before crashing into Charles and they both twirl around to watch her jump over scrawny under bushes, then disappear behind the corner of the mansion. They stare at each other, both wearing twin confused expressions.

“Something’s underway.”

“It sure is,” Charles says. “I caught flashes of anticipation, childish glee and urgency to get to the botanic garden.”

Erik hums, tilting his head as he takes in the treeline behind Charles, the lazy motion the top of the trees engage into when the wind blows. Ororo said something about a new plant Shuri sent from Wakanda that she wanted to show the kids how to plant. Charles shivers and Erik’s attention zooms in again.

“We should step inside,” he suggests, but Charles turns his head ahead once more, frowning.

The hard thuds on the pebble path has Erik follow Charles and this time Pietro is running towards them— or he was because he blinked and there he is in front of Erik, cheeks and nose red, parka open and hanging low on one shoulder, shirt and undershirt pulled out of his pants. His nose is running and he licks the snot that touches his upper lip. He doesn’t wince at the disgusting display only because he’s seen this countless times to be moved in any way and because he used to do the same— once upon a time.

“Where Wanda?” he asks, Russian accent not as pronounced as with other English words.

There’s a soft intake of breath near him, but Erik’s more focused on the fact that _this kid_ is halfway towards a cold and is running around _without a scarf_ and the clothes that are meant to keep him warm are in disarray. _This kid._

“Were you chasing after your sister?” he asks as he kneels on one knee and takes care to put Pietro’s clothes back inside so they keep the warmth in and then zip close the parka.

 _“Da.”_ He nods.

“She ran towards the botanic garden,” he says. “There.” He points out to the bushes and the corner of the building.

_“Spasibo.”_

Erik simply shakes his head as the kid tears off and disappears in the blink of an eye. But when he turns, Charles has awe depicted on his face and Erik frowns. It surely isn’t because he helped a kid out with his clothes.

“What’s the matter?”

But Charles opens and closes his mouth multiple times, hands flying here and there before one catches Erik’s forearm and Erik’s attention zooms in on the point of contact his mind wishes that there weren’t any layers between his skin and Charles’ palm. There’s something he wants Erik to know, but he’ll be damned if he can read the pantomime. The influx of garbled thoughts that Charles sends into his mind don’t help either. Not when they’re mostly bundled up in hysteric joy and awe. And he knows it’s directed at himself, but he has no idea why.

 _“Pietro spoke,”_ he grits out after layers have been hung up in the foyer and Charles is in a thick wool sweater whereas Erik dones a thin turtleneck shirt.

Erik pauses on the step, recalling the encounter.

“Oh,” he says, blinking owlishly at a Charles whose face cannot contain the grin that looks like it wants to stretch and stretch and stretch.

This time Charles catches Erik’s hand between his own, squeezing, and Erik is not bothered in the least by the fact that Charles’ hands are freezing cold and leeching Erik’s warmth.

“This is brilliant! We need to tell the others! Kitty and Jane’s labor has finally bore fruits!”

He knows there’s something he needs to say here, but he does not want to tear his eyes away from the way those hands clasp his, the vine-like picture Charles’ fingers make, slender but not entirely soft. There’s a rough quality to them because Charles has never shied away from any kind of labour, be it mental or physical. Nowadays it’s mostly helping Hank in the lab, which more often than not results in bruises, burns or cuts.

Erik worries.

The cut between the index and middle finger, right where the skin is soft and yielding, is scabbing away, part of it revealing new, pink skin.

Erik worries about Charles too much these days. He’s not a kid who needs constant attention, though. He is aware of that.

Erik is unable _not_ to worry about him.

“Wait,” he says, but Charles is already halfway down the hallway, calling after Erik to follow him. “Charles, don’t make too much of a big deal out of it.”

Charles pauses with his hand on the door handle. When Erik stops, he can’t help but do so very, _very_ close to him. He likes it when Charles needs to tilt his head up to meet Erik’s gaze. It’s not a question of power, but rather a question of the possibilities that such an angle allows for.

He’s never trespassed the invisible and unspoken lines between them, but nowadays it’s getting harder and harder to remember where those lines are. Charles is not helping either with his carefree attitude around Erik and the random touches. He’s more tolerant to the smiles, they don’t distract him as much as they used to a month ago, but sometimes Charles still manages to catch him off guard.

“I don’t think we should involve a lot of people in this,” he continues, distinctly aware of the fact that Charles’ arm is grazing Erik’s chest and stomach and belt every time he inhales. He can’t inhale faster, lest he draws Charles’ attention to that. “They will notice it in time, when Pietro wants them to.”

“You fear he might regress.”

Erik nods slowly. “It’s a possibility.”

Charles acquiesces and retracts his hand from the door handle, expression serious and considerate. For some inexplicable reason, there’s a sudden rush that almost compels Erik to lean down—

He steps back, Charles’ gaze following him with a frown.

“I hear Hank will show us his new inventions before lunch,” he says because there’s simultaneously too little and too much to say. His chest will explode if he doesn’t distract his mind.

Charles must have sensed this misalignment, his frown deepening. He nods reluctantly and lets Erik lead the way to the communal room.

 

***

“So, you and the Professor,” Yukio says out of the blue, falling in step with him as he’s walking towards the botanic garden where Ororo is having her biology lesson.

He’s been having difficulty cutting down the rumors that the teenagers spread around about him and Charles being an item. That couldn’t be farther from the truth, but no matter how much he denies this when he’s confronted by this or that grinning teen, they simply seem to brush Erik’s denial off like ducks do with water.

He gave up even acknowledging such comments.

Erik looks around. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

He might not look like he gives a damn about the kids’ social circles and love life, but he does. It’s part of life just like math and chemistry and history and literature.

“Oh, she’s out with Colossus to help Wade and Nathan on a mission,” she says as if she didn’t just unload important information on Erik.

She’s blithely typing away on her phone even when Erik stops dead in his tracks to stare at her. But maybe panicking isn’t the best option here, so he peels the information away.

“Why are you here, telling me this, and not there with them?”

Yukio and Ellie are not exactly inseparable, but they’re seen together more often than not.

“I chose to stay behind and alert you in case the mission goes haywire— oh, it just did. They’re requesting backup.”

“Ellie is texting you this?”

“No, Wade is. He said he’ll keep in touch. By the way, he says hi.”

Erik closes his eyes and fills his lungs with oxygen as he alerts Jean of the situation and she dispatches a team to bring their wayward teacher and student back home. There will be _words._ And they won’t be _nice._ No matter their tacit agreement to avoid each other, he can’t have students off campus without his consent.

Serenity filters through his worked up thoughts.

_My friend, I’m sure Colossus went with her to protect your precious student and not because he wanted to break the school’s rules._

Of course Charles would be in on the loop. That’s what he gets for allowing the man to contact him like Jean does.

_He should’ve told me or Jean. Not make a decision that could jeopardize their and this school’s safety._

_He means well. I’m sure he’ll take full responsibility for this when they return. Don’t be too harsh on him._

Yukio says her goodbyes in the meantime and Erik proceeds forwards, but this time heading towards the mansion instead of the botanic garden.

_Charles._

_Yes?_

He definitely ignores the shiver that runs down his spine at how readily he responded, not to mention the warmth of the thought.

_We’re not friends._

Amusement ricochets in his mind as he enters the west wing and locates Jean.

 

***

Of course Charles is in the underground hangar when the plane lands and Erik makes his entrance. His eyes are the first Erik’s meet, and it’s not because he felt the familiar feeling of his mind nearby. No such thing. It’s just because Charles is the closest to the door. That’s it. Then his gaze bypasses Charles’ completely and lands on the people behind him.

_My friend…_

Erik lifts a finger. “Don’t,” he says as he passes him by and stops a few steps away from the group.

There’s so much metal in that hangar that his senses buzz alive underneath his skin. It makes him feel both more in control, but also restless, as if there’s a foggy veil between him and— something else.

He suppresses the nasty shiver that runs down his spine at seeing Colossus, his metal mutation something he’s been in too close proximity for too long a time— then a familiar red and black figure who’s making kissy noises at Colossus, one leg being at the baby stage of growing back. He wonders why nobody took out the iron arrow that pierced his skull from one side to the other. Ellie is at his side, her suit fried in some places and in others blackened; her hair is sticking up at odd angles and— is that smoke coming out of it?

He lifts an eyebrow at the display.

“I need to apologize,” Colossus begins just as Erik opens his mouth; he feels a warm presence at his side, touching his elbow, “for leaving premises without alerting anyone.”

“My fault,” sing-songs Deadpool.

“This guy,” Ellie jabs a finger in his back, but Deadpool doesn’t respond, continuing with the kissy noises and obscene finger gestures, “came in with a teleporter device he stole from Cable and zapped us away before we could say no.”

“Didn’t steal! Borrowed! Get your words in check, Ripley!”

Ellie rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

“This is completely my fault,” Colossus adds, “Ellie had nothing to do with it. I was helping her choose best protein bars for healthy growth, then Deadpool appears and we’re in different place.”

“Different time, too, handsome!”

Erik sighs, lifts his hand, palm up, and curls his fingers. The arrow comes to him, stopping above his hand. Ellie grimaces at the display, as does Scott.

“Woo! Is that you, grandma? Am I in the universe where I die and Pinocchio’s mice eat my remains?”

“No, Wade, you are in Westchester mansion, among friends.”

“Shit-biscuits, think I’m gonna—”

“He passed out,” Ellie adds.

“I believe,” Charles says, “it’s best if we move him to a room where he can regenerate and recover from the blood loss.”

Everybody turns to look at Erik. He, in turn, glances at Charles, then at Deadpool. He sighs.

“Fine,” he relents, ignoring the smile on Charles’ face or the warmth he sends. “Scott, Jean, take him to the infirmary and keep an eye on him. Alert me when he wakes up.” Scott grimaces, but Jean nods and uses her telekinesis to transport Wilson away from Colossus’ arms. “Ororo, could you please clean the blood.”

“Right away,” she says as she creates glacial winds that freeze the blood on Colossus, the floor and arrow, and then with another strong gust of wind, breaks the frozen blood into particles that disperse into the air.

“Thank you,” Erik says. “Now, you might not have agreed to go with Deadpool, but Ellie still got back looking as if she was grilled multiple times. Might I remind you—”

“Erik,” Charles tries, going so far as to take a hold of his elbow.

“I’m not finished, Charles,” he says, resolutely not looking at him. “Might I remind you, Colossus, that as a teacher at this school it is your utmost duty to ensure the students’ safety both inside and outside of these grounds?”

Colossus inclines his head, guilt painted over his metallic features.

“I apologize, sir.”

“Erik, this is ridiculous!” Charles butts in, stepping up to be in his field of vision, and now Erik cannot for the life of him ignore or look anywhere else but at Charles and the frown that darkens his features. “It wasn’t his fault and he is repenting for what happened to Ellie.”

“I can take care of myself!” Ellie says, but when Erik’s narrowed gaze finds hers, all the rebelliousness and confidence trickles out of her features, and she leans towards Colossus.

“Ellie!” Yukio cries out in delight.

“Piotr!” Wanda comes next.

“Nikolay!” Pietro follows.

Erik tunes out the multiple thuds coming from behind him.

This is not over.

“As long as you’re a student at this school, you abide by the rules,” Erik thunders. “Your safety is the most important thing here.” He turns his gaze towards Colossus just as Yukio jumps into her girlfriend’s arms and kisses her soundly. “You should be suspended for this.”

“Erik!” Charles says, firm and loaded. “That’s taking it too far!”

“No taking Nikolay away from me!” Pietro cries out, his slender body next to Wanda’s in front of Colossus.

“He’s our teacher,” Wanda follows her brother’s angry tone of voice. “He’s good with us. He teaches us how to be good and how to respect nature and other people. He takes care of us and makes sure we eat enough. He tells _stories!_ Like mother told them.”

“ _Da,_ you not take him away! He teaches us English. He tells _Rusalka_ and _Ivan Tsarevich and the Grey Wolf._ He stays!”

Erik is— baffled for lack of a better word. For the first time he’s hearing Pietro speak more than a couple of words at a time.

“Children,” Colossus says gently, both hands resting on Wanda and Pietro’s small shoulders. He kneels on one knee. “Mr. Lehnsherr is right. I put Ellie in danger.”

“You didn’t!” cries out Pietro, on the brink of tears, Wanda already hugging her teacher.

Charles crosses his arms and lifts an eyebrow. Erik would like to ignore him, but that gaze is such a magnet for him that he cannot resist it if he put his entire strength and willpower behind it.

_I suggest you mend this before it’s too late._

Erik frowns.

Charles rolls his eyes and huffs. _Before Pietro decides that he won’t forgive you._

_What? But this is—_

_This is you taking away their favorite teacher. You forget that Colossus is from Russia. This is the closest they’ve come to have someone who could understand them as completely as Colossus does._

“He stays,” Pietro says, distracting Erik into meeting his gaze.

There’s fear and anger there, and for the first time Erik’s reminded of how he felt when he heard the news. The panic that gripped him. The horrible scenarios that his mind supplied.

Then Charles’ expression thaws and he unfold his arms, taking hold of Erik’s biceps. Suddenly, Charles is very close and there’s so much sympathy in his big eyes. He knows.

_Erik, we were all worried about them, and I know that you feel it is your duty to keep everyone in this mansion safe. I understand that; this is your home and these people are your family. But now they’re both here, safe and sound. This is what you should focus on. Not what has already been done. Please, don’t be harsh on Colossus. He did what he could to keep both he and Ellie safe._

He’s not sure if it’s because of Charles’ words or touch or the way he looks so earnestly at Erik, but he doesn’t quite remember why he was so angry and determined to lie all the fault on his teacher instead of looking at the _real_ culprit.

He sighs and meets Pietro’s glare, then steps up and kneels on one knee, too. Pietro backtracks into Colossus.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Pietro,” he says. “But I was afraid for their safety. See, I opened this school with the intention of it being a safe place for mutants like you or me or your sister, where you can explore your powers and learn how to control them. There are many people out there who would harm us, but I don’t want you to fear going out into the world and not be able to rely on your power to keep you safe if you need it to. I feared that they might have been hurt out there without anyone to back them up.”

“He came back,” Pietro says, stubborn and harsh.

“Yes, they both did.” He smiles, just a little, then looks up at Colossus. “I take back what I said. Thank you for doing everything you could to bring both you and Ellie back safely.”

Surprise rises on Colossus’ features. “No need to thank me. I would’ve done it regardless.”

Erik nods and stands up.

“Does this mean that Piotr stays?” Wanda asks, small and hopeful.

He smiles at her. “Yes, he stays.” But even before he finishes his sentence, the twins scream and jump on Colossus bombing him with a lot of information about what they learned since he was gone and what they’d want him to read to them next.

He can’t help but inhale sharply at the onslaught of delight that Charles sends into his mind. He whirls around and finds that huge smile eating at his face and Erik simply shakes his head as he heads towards the exit to hide the smile that doesn’t want to die down.

 _You’re family, too, Charles,_ trickles back into Charles’ mind and his eyes widen a bit.

“He’s going to lecture Wilson, too, isn’t he?” Ororo asks, siding with Charles as they watch Erik go.

Charles sighs and closes his eyes. “Yes, he is. I better go there and make sure nobody gets hurt.”

“He won’t hurt Wilson,” Ororo says. “Not if you’re there.”

Charles sketches a small smile. “Let’s hope.”

 

***

The mansion escaped Erik’s ire barely, and that’s just because Charles had reached the infirmary in time to talk Erik down from using the cutlery to chop Wade in tiny pieces.

“You need a drink, my friend,” Charles says as they walk down the hallway, Wade muted because Charles doesn’t want him to rile Erik up any more than he already did.

“I need ten, a machine gun and Wilson at the end of the barrel,” he says drily.

“Now, now, my friend.” Charles suppresses his chuckles, but his voice is nothing if not amused. “Have I told you about the merits of tea and how calming it is to perform simple gestures?”

“Are you saying that I’ve been drinking my tea the wrong way?”

“No such thing,” Charles says as he drags Erik by his arm towards the kitchen. “Just the American way,” he adds with no small amount of affliction.

 

***

_Erik, stop it._

_I’m drinking my tea._

_Your pinky is moving._

_Nonsense. You taught me the proper way of drinking tea and I am applying it._

He lifts his pinky finger as he brings the cup to his mouth. Charles glares at him, but it lacks heat, when the giant metal elephant on his lawn doesn’t move in the direction he pushes the controller. Erik grins at him.

 _You’re insufferable!_ Charles sighs outwardly and places the remote on the table, unable to hide the smile.

If nothing else, Erik’s grin stretches.

It's a new invention made by Hank. It doesn't look like it has any apparent function other than to leave deep imprints on his lawn. Hank actually asked him to move the huge metal elephant outside for testing. It has a component inside which he says that can be used by Charles' telepathy to move it, but so far Charles has been unable to connect with the inanimate thing.

"It needs to have a soul, Hank," he told his friend earlier. "I cannot control that which has no agency of its own."

"But Jean—”

"Jean is also a telekinetic. I am simply a telepath. I need something that is alive."

Hank didn't like the answer, so he left the remote with them and went inside to tinker in his lab, probably thinking up new ways to make things animated.

"This is good tea, Charles," he says idly, looking down at the brown concoction.

That makes Charles' eyes twinkle with delight.

"Thank you, my friend," he says. "It's my specialty."

"You could try coffee."

He rolls his eyes. "Are we going to be that pair that argues over tea and coffee and the merits of both? Taste is not up for discussion."

Erik smiles and closes his fist loosely, making the elephant's trunk curl up, but just then Charles’ hand covers his and Erik meets his gaze, unprepared for the gesture— and the serene expression.

"I'm sure you can move metal without using your hands."

Erik stares. "I've never been able to focus my power without moving my hands or head."

"There is much more to your power than you know."

"And you know that how?"

Charles taps his head. "And no, my friend, I haven't been snooping around in your head without your permission. It's just the feeling that your mind gives me."

Erik's eyebrows lift. "Do explain."

Charles shrugs. "Not much to explain. It's a feeling. There's potential there which you haven't made use of— or even thought about honing."

Erik looks at the elephant. "Maybe I don't need it."

"True. But maybe you'll find something new about yourself by unearthing it."

They fall silent, both of them looking at the elephant and the yellow-orange cover of leaves marking the barren treeline. Charles doesn't take back his hand and Erik simply moves his other to cover Charles’. It's cold outside, the wind unforgiving and biting.

There are lingering stares afterwards. Not that there haven't been before, but Erik is more aware of when Charles looks at him. It's like a warm feeling falling over his shoulders, be it during his Power Control lessons or in the hallway, across the table at dinner or in the kitchen when they're both hunting down for coffee and tea. They're still the earliest birds in the mansion and Erik loves it. There's blessed quiet, warm coffee and a comforting presence at his side on the two-seat couch in the closest and most used communal area. The lazy morning sun cascades over them both, none in anything fancier than bathrobes and long-sleeved pajamas.

It stopped being strange for Erik to feel this at peace when Charles is present. Jean even remarked on the fact that he's been more carefree and easy-going since Charles came to live with them; that his fanbase grew and became more obsessed with him, but now always in relation to Charles; that Charles is always there and Erik simply can't remember how his life was prior to Charles.

It scares him late at night when he wakes up from a dream or other that leaves him queasy and like reality is not as he remembers it to be. It scares him even more when he looks at Charles across a hallway, room, field full of people and their eyes connect. Instantly. Without remorse. Charles smiles; he doesn’t. At least he thinks he doesn’t. Who knows what his face is doing without him being aware of it. He can’t exactly float a mirror in front of him wherever he goes.

It scares him that he keeps telling Charles that he has access to his mind whenever he feels like it, that he doesn't need to ask for permission.  
  
It scares him that he's falling asleep harder than usual because he expects Charles to send that inquiring feeling over, and Erik is ready to welcome Charles in his mind.

He never asks Charles to have mental conversations. It's always Charles that 'pings' him every once in a while.

Erik wishes that Charles would stop being this tentative around him. But he never voices these thoughts because they're there and out before he can fully register them. It's something he doesn't understand, this desire to be around a man. And it's not a question of sexuality, but rather of having someone be close to him in a way that the others will never be able to satisfy this need, someone with whom he can share thoughts, ideas, idle chat, silence— warmth.

There's a tentative brush against his mind and that, more than anything, jolts Erik wide awake from his sleepy thoughts. By now, they've become a source of comfort; his own personal lullaby, even though they all revolve around a single person. It can't possibly be healthy.

He allows Charles in.

_Hello, my friend._

_Hello, Charles._

Amusement trickles down into his mind and Erik smiles as he leans back on his pillows, bunching the covers at his chest.

There's silence for a long while, Erik waiting with bated breath for Charles to maybe explain himself or offer some kind of topic of discussion. He's not afraid that Charles retreated because he can still feel his presence, it's like a warm hand cupping the back of his head.

_I'm sorry for intruding this late but…_

_But?_

_I couldn't keep myself away._

Erik sends an inquire.

_You were thinking very loudly about me. It’s like broadcasting something at full volume. I can’t quite shield against it._

_Oh. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb your sleep._

_Oh, no. I wasn’t sleeping. Reading._

_So late?_

A moment passes.

_Do you always think about me before you sleep?_

Erik is too comfortable and loose with sleep to panic over the fact that Charles is very close to learning some hidden truths about him.

_Most of the time._

_Oh._ Another moment, then, _why?_

_Because you're an insufferable man who doesn't leave me alone even in my thoughts._

Thick amusement comes from Charles and Erik imagines that he's laughing in his own bed. Or chuckling softly in that way that makes people stand to attention and drink it in. But probably that's just Erik.

_I apologize for taking up so much space in your thoughts._

Erik smiles at nothing in particular in the semi-dark room.

_I got used to it._

_Oh? That fast?_

_It's been weeks, Charles._

And at that moment he realizes that he might have said too much. There is certainly the quiet that precedes something which cannot be answered easily. Yes, he's that kind of man. Hard to get underneath, but brutally honest with his feelings once you're there. He’s still not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. He’s a rather direct man even when there is no emotion in the middle of it.

_I see._

He can’t quite grasp what Charles is thinking, but he did say something that would put people in an awkward position. He sighs and closes his eyes, clearing his mind of thoughts and concentrating on Charles and how his mental touch feels.

_Don’t you have classes tomorrow?_

_As do you, Mr Lehnsherr._

_Erik,_ he corrects. _It’s grating when_ _ ~~a friend~~ ,_ trickles through before he can stop it, _someone I’m close to uses my surname._

_You know you don’t need to pretend anymore that we’re not friends. I know that you say that just because you’re insufferable and like to annoy me._

Erik grins sharply in the dark, now the moon covered by the clouds, and the sleep that eluded him is back.

_Then where would the fun be?_

Charles sends exasperation, but also amusement and fondness. It makes Erik feel warm all over and ready to fall asleep. To have such a man be this close and open to anything he might want to say it’s— yeah, it’s definitely something he won’t give up easily.

 _So, you've been thinking a lot about me,_ Charles returns to their main topic of discussion.

_I don't suppose you'll believe me if I deny that._

_Nope._

He fists the covers at the smugness that comes down with that answer. His room is just down the hall. Already, his mind is travelling that distance and knocking at Charles' door.

_Good night, Charles._

There’s a suspended time that follows, as if he drew in breath to argue or say something, but Erik’s thought, sleep-addled and fuzzy deterred Charles from sending anything.

_Good night, my friend._

 

***

Power Control lessons usually end up with somebody either bruised or throwing up. Sometimes both. That’s why he asked Hank to build suits that would protect them from being harmed in any capacity that the students’ powers could inflict. He doesn’t teach more than six kids at a time, so that he can track each one’s progress and help where it is needed.

This time, however, towards the end of the lesson, Charles appears. Not out of thin air. God forbid, that’s what Erik’s daily routine would _not_ need _._ As if the man isn’t a constant presence in his mind. He simply saunters towards them from Erik’s right where the treeline creates a jagged bracket, the south wing at Erik’s back. He doesn’t see Charles, no. He _feels_ his mind brush against his in that playful way he sometimes uses when he’s in an exceptionally good mood.

“Professor Xavier,” he greets, unable to not give Charles a once over.

He’s wearing the special suit, which is unusual as Charles doesn’t have any lessons that involve physical contact today. He sends an inquire.

“Professor Lehnsherr.”

_Hank made this for me, so I had to try it and see how well it fits. So far, it’s like having a second skin._

One of these days Erik _will_ corner the man and ask him about the perennial amusement that his eyes swim in whenever he greets Erik. But maybe this time they’re so clear and luminous because of the sunny day and the clear skies.

“To what do I owe this visit?” he continues on the same distant tone, filing away dangerous words like _fit_ and _skin._

“I finished my lessons and thought that I could spend the rest of my free time observing—”

“Marissa! Get your stupid hair out of my face!” one of the girls gripes as she fights against the voluminous chestnut hair that the wind blew in her face.

“It’s not my fault! You’re too close to me! I can’t control the wind, you know!”

“Miguel, watch out!” somebody shouts as another kid loses control of the electricity he was molding into a ball.

Erik is quick to push Miguel away from it, and the only damage that the ball does is burning its distorted shape into the grass.

“You saved my life, Professor Lehnsherr!” Miguel breathes out, transfixed.

Erik almost rolls his eyes. “No need to be dramatic, Miguel. Now, back to your places. You still have ten minutes of practice. Make them count.”

There’s a pleased smile on Charles’ face when he glances at him, but he ignores it in favor of paying attention to the kids. They need to learn how to control their powers, so what better way (or incentive) than to make them exercise with a partner in their direct line of fire. This is the group with explosive and lethal mutations, which is why all of them don the special suits.

“Miguel, the spikes should fly in one direction, that of your opponent,” Erik admonishes gently as he pushes away the two girls closest to him before being hit.

The suits have metal filaments sewn into them for better protection— and better control for Erik.

“Sorry, professor!”

He nods for them to continue the practice.

“Wasn’t this the group that almost had your hair on fire?”

A dry smile crests his lips. “Incredible memory, _Professor.”_ Charles grins cheekily at him. “Yes, Andreea. The blue-haired one.”

They both watch how she channels the fire into a ball between her palms, her partner doing the same but with water, before they release them towards each other, creating sizzles and then vapors. They like to test their powers this way, and sometimes Erik devises games for them to play which puts both their control and abilities to test.

“I see she has come a long way— from setting your hair on fire.”

“Professor,” he says, the sarcasm naked and proud to be heard by Charles, “if I didn’t know you better, I’d say that you came here to test my concentration.”

“Am I succeeding?”

Erik doesn’t need to look at Charles to hear the smile. “Not even a bit,” he says softly, more to himself.

_Is that a challenge?_

_Don’t even think about it!_

_Think about what?_

_Charles._

“Professor Lehnsherr,” Miguel interrupts their mental conversation and when Erik’s sight focuses back on the group, there are six pairs of eyes watching them curiously.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

“The hour’s up,” a blonde girl says, mischief dancing in her eyes.

Erik checks his wrist watch. Not wrong.

“Very well—”

“Professor,” Miguel interrupts and Erik narrows down his gaze for that. “We were wondering if you could show how you control your power, sir,” he says in a rush, half stepping behind the tall girl with whom he was practicing.

He frowns. “I’m sure you have other lessons—”

“We don’t,” Miguel interrupts again, head retreating behind the girl’s shoulder at Erik’s glare.

“We’re free, Professor,” the blonde drawls.

Kids, he understands. But _teenagers_ with their hormones and weird behavior around him—   he’s never been good at the friendly part. Now he knows why.

“That’s a brilliant idea, Tammy,” Charles says, and Erik is surprised that he forgot about him, but there’s an absence in his mind. “What do you say, my friend? A demonstration for the kids.”

“We’re adults,” the only other boy beside Miguel chirps.

“Not with that voice, Matthew,” Erik quips back because sometimes these people are looking for it.

The group titters. Erik sighs, and motions for Charles to take his place several steps away from him.

“I will demonstrate how I can manipulate the metallic filaments sewn into Cha— Professor Xavier’s suit to make him float.”

“Will you narrate how it feels?” Andreea says in a rush.

Erik throws Charles a this-is-all-your-fault look, to which Charles answers with a wide grin. Wonderful, he’s surrounded by kids. Teenagers. Whatever. Charles isn’t older than five; six at most.

_I’m at least five times that age._

_Fine. Six and one day._

Charles shakes his head in amusement. _Insufferable man._

_I didn’t know you liked to compliment yourself._

Somebody in the group at his side clears his throat and Charles burst into chuckles.

“Very well,” he says, and lifts his hands, ignoring the faint twinge in his left shoulder, concentrating on Charles’ suit.

_You could do this without your hands._

_If I move my head you’re going to get thrown away._

_You know what I mean, Erik._

_They like seeing my— jazz hands._

Charles laughs out loud as Erik lifts him several feet off the ground. That foggy veil feeling is back alongside the dull pain in his shoulder, but Erik has other things to concentrate on right now, like making sure he doesn’t drop Charles. Unlike inanimate metal objects, which he can mold back if they break, Charles is the kind of ‘object’ that his powers cannot manipulate on _that_ level.

_I don’t think you’re in a position to make fun of the only person that stands between you and the ground._

“How does it feel, professor?”

“It feels like—”

_I trust you with my life, Erik._

His grip slips, the sudden jolt making him hiss as it pulls at his shoulder, but he catches Charles before he falls more than a couple of feet.

 _Charles,_ he sends, gritting his teeth even as Charles frowns, worry darkening his features.

“It feels like grabbing the magnetic fields that his suit is generating around him and twisting them in a detached, cool manner. Not unlike how blacksmiths feel like when they manipulate metal in different shapes. But this is how blacksmiths would probably feel like if they were to take hold of the hot metal and shape it with their bare hands. It allows for more control and dexterity.”

Somebody gasps at his side, but he’s too focused on Charles and bringing him back on the ground safe and sound to care one iota who it was or what the group thinks. Not to mention that Charles is not smiling anymore.

“Class dismissed.”

He doesn’t wait for the kids to disperse because he’s already striding towards a— frowning Charles. He opens his mouth to say something, but Charles assesses him once, and then his features morph into a neutral mask. Unusual for him.

“Your shoulder.”

Erik pauses, then nods slowly. “It’s nothing. Are you okay? Did I apply too much force? I’m not used to lifting someone in the air, so I’m afraid I might’ve—”

It’s like switching on a light.

“No, my friend. That was wonderful! It felt like being kept afloat by hands enveloping the suit. We should do that more often.”

“You mean you’d like to be almost dropped from several feet high every once in a while?” he says drily.

Charles chuckles. “There’s no need to focus on what could have happened. You were in control the whole time. It’s a success.”

Erik was drawing in breath to argue, eyes glued to Charles’ face, but deflated after a moment, shaking his head at this insufferable man.

“I won’t even bother,” he says, turning and heading towards the mansion.

“Is your shoulder—”

“It’s fine.” Erik waves without turning around.

He’s been out the whole day, sparring and exercising with five groups, so he’s sweaty and his shoulder has started to act up again. He pulls and pushes at it with his other hand, then pulls back his shoulders and grimaces at the tug he feels. Hot, long shower it is.

It doesn’t help as much as he’d like, but it does loosen up his shoulder muscles a bit.

Someone knocks on his door just as he’s halfway towards his bed. He glances at the electric clock on his nightstand. He still has two hours until dinner, which is why he intends to lie down and rest for at least half an hour before he grades some papers. With two fingers, the door opens and Charles peeks from behind.

His hand stops from where it was rubbing the towel into the side of his head.

“Charles.”

He finds words— one word, after they stare at each other for enough time to become a bit awkward. The part of the towel he was using falls down on his chest.

“Hello, Erik,” he says, taking two steps into his room to close the door. “Sorry for intruding, but I saw that you were favoring your left shoulder.”

Erik blinks. “Yes. It’s been acting up lately more than it usually does. Think something’s stuck in there, but no matter what exercises I do, it doesn’t want to pop.”

“May I?” he says, taking more steps towards Erik, but stopping before encroaching on his personal space.

He lifts both his eyebrows, glancing up and down between Charles’ serene expression and the hand between them.

“I don’t think I understand.”

Charles huffs and rolls his eyes. Now wait a minute. It’s not Erik’s fault that the insufferable man seems to be offering something without explicitly saying what it is. Erik is not a mind reader, _unlike someone he knows._

“No, you’re not a mind reader,” Charles says, mirth dancing in his eyes, so clear and luminous right now that Erik forgets it’s because of the sunset flooding his room. “But you do know how to read body language and facial expressions.”

“Charles,” Erik begins, exasperation fizzing in his words, “I’m tired after so many hours of—”

“I’m offering to give you a massage, if you don’t have any urgent matters to attend to for the next hour.”

Erik blinks, brain halting all its processes, unsure how to compute such words. Charles sighs impatiently. That’s something new.

“I don’t,” he finds himself saying, which brings a smile to Charles’ lips.

“Wonderful,” he says. “Please.” He motions for Erik to lie on his bed.

“What, no manhandling?” he sasses, rounding the bed and dropping the wet towel on the bed, before he takes his shirt off.

There’s a pause, then, “I do recall you glaring at me when I tried last time.”

“I don’t remember my glaring stopping you from doing anything you wanted here.”

“Be quiet, you insufferable man, and relax,” he says goodnaturedly as Erik makes himself comfortable on his stomach, burying his arms under the pillow that’s touching his head.

“Between you and me, you’re the insufferable one.”

“Might I remind you that your back will be in my hands for the next hour or so? A lot of things can happen during that span of time.”

Erik doesn’t need to see Charles’ face to hear the grin— or the palms that are rubbing together to spread the lotion he keeps on the bedside table for his shoulder and lower back problems.

“I trust you with my life, Charles,” Erik says and grins into his cover at the sudden silence.

Charles is not the only asshole in the room. He never was.

But he is the _only one_ who can make Erik moan and groan within the first two minutes of having those clever palms and fingers mold Erik’s back however much he wants and applying as much or as little pressure. He doesn’t even care that Charles is incredibly amused by the noises that Erik gets out. It feels so damn good that he can’t even find the brain power to feel embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” his voice, filled with barely constrained laughter, filters through the pain-pleasure haze lowly, “I’ll take your grunts and moans over all the compliments you never said. Okay, sit up, legs over the edge of the bed. I’m going to try and pop your shoulder now.”

Erik does as instructed, feeling the slight chill of the room now that Charles heated up and loosened his upper back muscles. Charles stands at his side and presses his thumb lightly into the middle of his shoulder, telling Erik to move his arm from shoulder level all the way to his back, all the while applying increasing pressure on that point with his thumb until Erik feels needles travelling down his arm and he grimaces at the nasty pain.

Then Charles moves over on the bed, positioning himself behind Erik’s back, almost draping himself over him, and Erik leans a bit into his front, his body leeching off the heat. He gathers Erik’s forearm up until his palm almost touches the top of his shoulder, and embracing Erik from behind, both palms covering his elbow, he brings the upper half of the arm down almost to body length and after repeating the move a couple of times he pulls up suddenly.

The pop makes Erik curse and forget about how close Charles’ face had been, because it both feels like all the tension drained from it and it sends a jolt of pain through his arm. Then Charles gets to the other shoulder and repeats the exercise to have balance.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m liquefied,” he says, feeling as if his body is going to melt into the bed.

Charles’ lilting, warm chuckles pull a lazy, satisfied smile from Erik as he completely relaxes back on his stomach to let Charles continue the massage. The next minutes — it feels like ages to Erik’s fuzzy head — are spent slowly making his way down his back. He’s so blissed out right now that he’s not sure he’ll be able to stay awake. But then Charles starts kneading his gluteus maximus and he jolts, his senses suddenly on high alert.

“Erik.”

He’s aware of every single piece of metal in the entire mansion at once, and his mind is grappling with that knowledge. It never happened to this level. He’s always been aware of metal in his vicinity, but not as clear as he is right now, feeling the shape of each individual object, from the smallest pin in the bottom drawer of his desk to the plane in the hangar and the metal beams travelling all through the underground tunnel that leads towards an exit into the forest.

“Erik.”

Everything is so close, tempting him to get hold of their magnetic field and manipulate them.

“Erik.”

Then he becomes aware of Charles’ suit, the little metallic filaments in it and that’s when he realizes that Charles is _floating_ six feet in the air. He turns and sits up only to be greeted by Charles’ delighted face.

“I knew you could do it!”

“Do it?”

Charles waves at his room, and he sees lamps, belts, his two wrist watches, the old clock, cables, and other things floating mid air.

“Lehnsherr,” comes Scott irritated voice from down the hall, “what the fuck are you doing? Put me down now!”

“No! Keep going, Professor!” Miguel shouts from the other side, whooping as something crashes and a mix of raised, thunderous threats and laughter fill the hallway.

Charles laughs at that, but Erik is still shocked into the next Thursday by the fact that he did that. Every metal in the mansion is at his finger— well, his mental fingertips. He meets Charles’s gaze and wills everything to settle down. Everything does, slowly, and he’s so concentrated on them that he isn’t aware of the fact that Charles, too, is coming back down— on him.

It’s only when his warm hands touch his shoulders that he blinks and has to lean back because Charles is _inches_ away from his face.

“That was _brilliant,_ Erik!” Charles says, his face flushed and eyes blue, so blue that Erik is sure this kind of intensity is not possible in this world. “You should’ve seen your mind when you actively used your power! It shined so brightly, I thought I was going to get drunk on simply feeling the amount of power and control you had over it.”

There’s something to be said about Erik and unlocking some hidden pocket of power that he was holding secret from himself that he doesn’t panic or faints. It’s impossible to _think_ about anything else but how excited and flushed Charles is. How close—

He pushes his hand into Charles’ hair — it doesn’t go through as easily as he thought it would, the hair tangled from the wind — and stops there because Charles stopped talking and now they’re both staring at each other as if they’ve never seen one another before, but there’s something familiar that pulls them towards each other.

“I think you heated up my suit,” Charles breathes out, his eyes searching, waiting, anticipating.

“I’m pretty sure that’s you being excited,” he says, simply because he knows that Charles will find it amusing, but he doesn’t anticipate the light swat at his shoulder. “Careful where you hit. You’re going to undo all your hard work.”

“Insufferable man,” he says. “I meant that when you made me float, my suit started heating up. I checked.” He wiggles his gloveless fingers, but Erik is aware of them only at the edge of his vision. “I’m sure you did that with every metal in the mansion.”

That has Erik’s pleasantly fuzzy mind stop. He blinks.

“Did it hurt? I mean, I did feel the magnetic field at a more intimate level, as if it was connected to me so deeply that no matter how feeble the thought, it could command the metal as easily as me breathing, but I didn’t— hurt you, did I?”

He shakes his head. “No such thing, my friend.” Then he cants his head to the side, as if he needs to change the angle from which he looks at Erik to have a better grasp on— whatever he is thinking. “You exerted more control over yourself than normal, which I think explains why your mind called to me like a beacon.”

“Did it, now?” Erik lifts an eyebrow. “I knew you were only after my brains.” He grins and Charles looks like he’s going to do something; he does lean a bit forward, but then he shakes his head with a wry smile.

“You did this once before, you know?” Charles says instead.

“Did what?”

“The first time we met. You made everything float without you moving a finger.” Erik stares at him, recalling the event. “At the time I wasn’t wearing anything made of metal on me, so I wasn’t affected.”

“Right. So will you ever tell me why we kept running into each other? The only possible explanation here is that you were stalking me.”

Neither seem to care about the fact that they are so close they’re on the edge of going cross-eyed, Charles’ hands warms on his shoulders, while he still has a hand tangled in his hair, the other on the opposing hip.

He smiles and shakes his head. “I actually didn’t ‘stalk’ you. If I did, I’d have contacted you long before you decided to look for me.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

He shakes his head once again with a dry chuckle and moves _away_ from Erik and Erik is thoroughly befuddled because he’s not able to understand why he would do such a thing. Charles’ right place is in _his_ arms—

It’s been a while since he caught on to his own feelings this late into the game.

Charles brings his shirt closer to him, now standing, and Erik takes it from him with numb fingers.

“Make sure you keep your back warm and drink lots of water,” he says as Erik lets his hand with the shirt gradually lower on the bed.

He watches Charles’ back retreating, the damn black and dark green suit calling to him like it never did before now. He doesn’t even think and he wills Charles’s suit to stop moving before he even reaches the middle of the room.

“Erik,” Charles says, throwing a dirty look over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying, standing and approaching Charles on autopilot. “I can’t let you leave just yet.”

Erik has time to think that something will go wrong before Charles narrows down his eyes and he both freezes in place and loses the grip he had on his power.

“You didn’t—” At least he didn’t freeze him completely.

“Touch my temple with my fingers?” Charles grins, putting a bit of swag in his steps as he starts circling him. “That gesture helps me focus when there are too many minds around, so that I don’t latch onto all of them at once. But here, now—” he stops in front of Erik, “you’ve always been the only person I know who I could focus on effortlessly. I don’t even have to try and your mind is there, calling to me like a beacon. It’s the most natural thing for me to form a mental connection with you. As if—” He shakes his head and sighs. “You’ve no idea the amount of control I need to put into shielding from you.”

Erik grins at this, wide and unrepentant. He knows this game. It’s the same one they’ve been playing all these months, but now they reached the point where they’re revealing their cards. He pushes against the pressure Charles has on Erik’s power.

“Erik,” he warns, a frown that lacks willpower; it’s more calculating than irritated.

“And here you were not a month ago telling me that there was nothing special about you. You’ve had us all fooled, _Professor.”_

Charles releases the pressure from Erik’s mind and Erik regains the ability to move and yield his power.

“It was never my intention to fool you. I simply wanted—”

“A normal life.”

Charles stares at him. “No. A life where I could help people fully realize their potential.”

“This is why I opened this school, Charles. To give mutants back the normalcy that they wouldn’t have out there with no one to guide them.”

He receives a smile in return, but it’s weak and unlike anything he’s been showering Erik with. It sits wrong on his face.

“Maybe I should go,” Charles says after a while, walking towards the door.

Panic surges through Erik like a volcano kept under pressure for too long and before the thought fully realizes in his mind, Charles freezes once again, and this time he feels the rapid vibrations of Charles’ heartbeat.

“Erik,” Charles throws over his shoulder and it’s miffed, like he doesn’t want to continue this game.

Well, newsflash! Erik is not playing anymore. He wills Charles to face him once more, then lifts him an inch off the ground and has him float slowly towards him.

“Erik, don’t make me use my power—”

“Go ahead,” he challenges. “Take away my power, freeze me, make me forget this ever happened.” He stops Charles inches away from him, placing him down and releasing his hold on the suit. “It won’t change the fact that I want you to stay.” He lets that sink in. “Stay, Charles,” he repeats, gentle and filled with hope.

Charles’ eyes widen minutely. “I never intended to leave.”

“Stay with me.”

“Erik, I’m not leaving the mansion.”

He cups Charles’ cheek, feeling how he leans into it. “No, but you intended to distance yourself from me.” Charles draws in a breath. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

He purses his lips and averts his gaze.

“Like you said, I don’t need to be a mind reader to read _you,_ Charles.”

He sighs, glancing up at Erik, then down, then up again as if he’s considering something. Erik waits.

“No, you don’t need to be,” Charles says, meeting his gaze head on this time. “But I will show you everything you need to know.”

And before he has time to ask, he’s slammed by a wave filled with such potent feelings that he gasps and steps back, grappling with the downpour before Charles eases a bit on it and Erik can breathe again. It’s such an alien feeling, the mind of another. It feels like nothing he’s ever felt before, all smooth planes, peppered with dips and lows, after-images and sounds.

“Is this your— am I—”

_Yes, Erik, you’re in my mind._

_And that— those are—_

_My feelings for you, yes. So you were right when you said that we weren’t friends._

Ruefulness trickles down with that thought and Erik frowns.

_But— certainly, you must know that I never meant that._

There’s a pause in the current of thoughts, impressions and images.

_You… kept reinforcing that, so I thought—_

Erik huffs out loud. “You thought that I really meant it?”

_Charles, you were in my mind almost 24/7. Surely you saw—_

Charles shakes his head. “No. Never.”

_I never read more than your surface thoughts._

_So you never—_ Charles shakes his head again and Erik closes his eyes in silent exasperation. _For someone who can access minds like I open books, you surely know how to create misunderstandings._

 _Now, now,_ Charles frowns, _no need to become insulting._

“I clearly do need to,” he murmurs, loving the way Charles’ warm cheek fit into his palm.

 _That’s a nice thought,_ he sends, blushing lightly.

Erik smiles. _Go on, take a deeper look at my thoughts._

Charles stares. _Are you sure?_

He huffs and rolls his eyes. _Would I offer if I wasn’t? Really, Charles, sometimes I wonder if you’re the most powerful telepath in the world._

_Where did you get that one from? I never said that._

Erik releases a long-suffering sigh. _Shut up, Charles, and take that look._ Then, as an afterthought, _my logic is the best logic._

Amusement filters through and Erik can’t help but mirror outwardly the smile he sees on Charles’ lips. He places two fingers on Erik’s temple, which makes him lift an eyebrow because Charles proved that he could use his telepathy without moving a muscle. And besides, Erik’s hand is already touching his face so there is a point of contact between them.

“Humor me,” Charles murmurs.

The fingers become mostly a palm as Charles gently touches his memories and thoughts. It creates butterflies in his stomach at how slow and careful his friend is.

_So you do consider us friends._

_Dig deeper._

It doesn’t take Charles much more to find Erik’s deepest desires and feelings he kept under tight control. Now all the memories Charles leafed through from their first encounter to just minutes ago become tinged with Erik’s repressed desires and thoughts, and Charles needs to open his mouth to breathe more freely.

Amusement and delight mix together in his mind from Charles. _I can’t believe we fancy ourselves adults._

_After this ridiculous misunderstanding, I suggest we lay low on bringing that subject up with the students._

_Agreed._

Erik realizes he’s grinning only when Charles pushes forward and hugs him. He breathes Charles in, his hair still smelling faintly of pine and apples, and whatever the smell that makes him Charles. This is right. This is where Charles belongs. He squeezes once, making Charles gasp and then chuckle.

“I should probably find Hank and give the suit back,” he says, leaning back to look at Erik.

“Later.”

He doesn’t let Charles protest because he’s already moving them back to the bed, using telepathy to send exactly what he wants them to do. The connection they’ve established between them is strong and lasting. Erik is in no hurry to shield from Charles. There’s nothing more he has to hide from the man.

“Erik, this suit was designed to allow for free range of movement and protection. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t meant to be worn for more than a handful of hours. My skin needs to breathe.”

He grins, backing Charles until he’s close to the bed. “That can be arranged.”

With his mind he unzips Charles’ suit, until he’s left only in his black boxers to accompany Erik’s black lounge pants. Now he crowds Charles, hands caressing his hips before settling there, loving the way Charles has to lean back to meet Erik’s gaze.

_Smug looks good on you._

“Does it?” he murmurs, eyes zooming in on Charles’ lips.

He presses a long close-mouthed kiss to Charles’ forehead. It’s a long one. So long, in fact, that Charles huffs and pushes back, then kisses his jaw, and Erik’s arms circle on his lower back, completely gluing their fronts.

Then Charles pulls him down with him on the bed, the playful glint back in his eyes, most probably picking up the many ideas Erik has in store for them for the next hour.

Nothing that requires them to sweat, though. That’s something he puts on hold for later, Charles sending enthusiastic approval at what Erik wants them to do. Right now he simply feels the need to get acquainted with the warm body beneath him, touch and breathe him like the kind of present that he’s been waiting for all his life. Charles lets him have at it, set the pace however slow he feels like, as he cards through his short hair, closing his eyes and sighing softly.

He doesn’t go below Charles’ waist with the kisses, letting his hands glide down his thighs, play a bit with the hem of his boxers before returning back up to loom over his Charles.

They stare at each other, and maybe this is where Erik should say something, confirm his feelings or make a bad joke, but the softness in his eyes puts a lump in his throat and there’s only one thing that he can do, if words fail him so thoroughly.

He is aware of how gradually his body presses back into Charles, hips, then stomach and chest, and then how Charles’ hand in his hair encourages him to continue. He’s tentative, at first, but then Charles pushes back and Erik opens his mouth, allowing him in. In no time, this slow kiss becomes more intense, like they’re both trying to convey words without sound to the other.

Then they change positions, still kissing lazily, but now Charles is draped like a lazy cat over Erik, his hand, this time, carding through Charles’ hair and pulling delighted hums from this insufferable man that managed to worm his way into Erik’s very soul.

“That is so dramatic, my friend,” Charles comments idly, fingertips moving without intent over Erik’s stomach.

“We’re not friends.” Something compels him to say that out loud, which has him stop and blink at the ceiling.

Charles chuckles, then repositions himself until his chin rests on the hand that’s draped across Erik’s chest.

“We are,” he says. “We are that and so much more.”

Erik huffs a laugh and resumes his caresses. “I defer to your logic— _my friend.”_

Charles grins. “It’s the better logic.”

He goes to swat Charles’ ass, but he anticipates the action and rolls off of Erik, only to have Erik follow suit and trap him beneath him with his body. He dives in to kiss the living daylights out of his insufferable man when somebody knocks.

“Dinner is ready in ten,” Jean’s muffled voice comes, “if you two got you-know-what out of the way.”

Erik blinks at the door, then frowns at Charles. “Was that her way of saying sexual tension?”

Charles laughs. “We do live on a floor that has both students and teachers rooms. She simply didn’t want to give more fuel to the rumors about us.”

He closes his eyes. “They’re gonna give me so much grief over this.”

“Don’t worry, I can always divert their attention from the matter at hand.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “I recall you said you wouldn’t manipulate anybody.”

“It’s not manipulation, if I simply nudge their minds towards something else that holds their interest.”

“You’re a menace!” But he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Anything to keep my favorite professor from being pestered by hormonal teenagers.”

Erik breaks down into chuckles, letting most of his weight on Charles, basking in his warmth and smell and laughter. He almost gets into an argument with Charles over skipping dinner, but Charles has always been better at argumentation— or is the promise of him fucking Erik's brains out in the shower (yes, he used those exact words) filed under baiting your partner to do your bidding?

Oh, well, better men have fallen for cheaper tricks.

At least Erik gets to be thoroughly fucked out of it. There’s no downside to this.

**Author's Note:**

> I used [this vid ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzYnlyQodjg/) for getting the 'shoulder popping' scene right. 
> 
> Now.
> 
> How in all that is unholy did it take _this_ much for these two assholes to _kiss_. I mean, I know that in some fics it can reach 50K with nothing but UST and no kiss in sight, but goodness gracious guys! This is ridiculous for my first Cherik fic.
> 
> Anyway, I had three songs on repeat every time I wrote on this fic. Pale Honey "Lay all your love on me"; Seafret "Oceans"; American Authors "Say Amen" ft. Billy Raffoul. Now they're labelled as Cherik songs in my head. They do kinda speak about this longing for each other which translates as Cherik to me.


End file.
